


/societal pressure

by Pearly_Pornography



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Drug Use, F/M, Homophobic Language, Hypersensitivity, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, No mpreg, Omega Verse, Pheromones, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Self-Lubrication, Slurs, Violence, henry's a bad and horny man, no pennywise but georgie still dead, way too much worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 15:48:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21101978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: The IT Omegaverse fic that nobody asked for and I'm embarrassed for writing to be honest. After their final year of high school, the Losers Club are trying to decide what to do with the summer. But things get turned on their heads, feelings are laid bare, and Henry Bowers is a really mean and nasty dude.





	/societal pressure

It’s around eleven that most children present, usually through behavioral cues. In Bill Denbrough’s case, it existed in the form of constantly staying around his baby brother Georgie. Georgie himself died in a bus accident long before he presented anything. Though death is always painful, Bill was at peace with the idea of never seeing his brother in any sort of questionable state. 

In high school he had his first heat cycle, which hit him right out of nowhere. He got carried off to the nurse bright red and looking like he’d wet himself. As it turned out, he actually produced a far above-average amount of slick. Enough that his mother insisted he sit on a towel when she drove him home that day. Enough that the people who unfortunately saw the ordeal began calling him “Sticky Bill”, which almost made him miss “Stuttering Bill” as a nickname. Eddie Kaspbrak was one such person, but promised to keep the secret deep in his guts and never even think of letting it free.

There wasn’t really a good solution for it. (A doctor had even suggested adult diapers at one point, which Bill immediately turned down.) He’d just miss stretches of school or, if there was an important test, he’d slip a women’s sanitary pad in his underwear and spend most of the day in the bathroom. It was far too obvious what he was, and most likely all of his friends  _ knew _ and just didn’t say anything.  _ Surely _ , he figured,  _ if Richie knew he’d be dropping jokes left and right about it _ . But Richie Tozier remained silent on the matter. Either he didn’t know, or suddenly decided now was the time for good taste.

Initially they’d all been thinking of moving out, but by graduation, not a single member of the Losers’ Club had plans for the future. So all of them applied to a small community college the next town over, and all of them got in, which meant the club would not have to disband. It was looked down on for omegas to even attend college, but not illegal. Bill would have to start his writing career somewhere.

It was the summer between senior year of high school and freshman year of college. (“Can’t wait to be a freshman for a second time,” Richie had stated in his usual good-humored tone.) At no later than four in the morning, Bill awoke in soaking-wet sheets. He hated when it started at night almost as much as he hated when it started in public. Heat again. Well, he’d have to call off his plans with the Losers once the sun came up. For the time being, he ran himself an ice-cold shower while lamenting the cumstain he left behind in his sleep. Some omegas were blessed with low sexual sensitivity, but this was rare and considered a disability, like being deaf or mute. Bill wished he was one of them -- he’d heard Victor Criss was like that, but promptly got his teeth punched out for even implying Bowers would hang out with omega scum.

The cold water only did a little. In the end he still felt torch-hot on the inside, like a toasted Pop-Tart or something. He’d been growing his hair out, which was reaching his shoulders and making him look like Beck, or the lost fourth member of Hanson, but with huge glasses. His fingers knotted in it, giving the ashy locks an experimental tug that promptly sent him falling on his ass. (God, what would Eddie say? “Bill! You know how many people die from falling in the shower per year? You could break your neck or something!”) The impact on his tailbone sent more ripples through his body. Damn it. For fuck’s sakes.

His parents always said they didn’t know what went wrong, or at least, they looked like they were thinking it. Whenever Bill would come downstairs with a towel wrapped around his waist, leaving a gooey trail behind him like a slug, they’d shoot one another a look that said,  _ I’m a beta, you’re a beta, what could’ve happened here?  _ Rarely ever did Bill masturbate outside of the shower. Not even in his own bedroom, out of an almost obligatory sense of shame. In the shower it’d all just disappear down the drain later on, like nothing ever happened. Anywhere else, he’d leave behind sticky tissues and washcloths and magazines.

Adjusting himself onto hands and knees he stuck a finger up his ass. Male omegas generally had a wider prostate gland than the average person, which made it nice and easy to find for anyone’s general purposes. One press and he was already spitting white into the whirling drain, managing to hold in an absolutely ludicrous sound on the off chance he’d wake up his parents. 

He’d disappointed them enough for one lifetime.

Wet hair clung to the skin of his neck. He wanted to go in for another, more than anything, his stupid fucking body told him to just cum to death right there in his shower. But he’d have to use his brain for more than three seconds.  _ No, dumbass, it’s four AM. Go back to sleep. _ So he turned the water off and toweled himself off a bit before throwing on a bathrobe -- a pale blue one. Then he crawled back into bed, trying desperately to ignore the feeling of fabric over his skin, or the hair tickling his shoulders, or even the wind coming through his slightly-open bedroom window.

* * *

Stanley Uris refused to be a part of any system.

He got a call from his good pal Bill, who told him he couldn’t hang out for the next week. Stan knew better than to ask why, but really wanted to call him a dumbass over it. His other friend Eddie was a pill popper, and Stan was too, but he was a much better one.

Stan’s father had been an alpha. His mother was a beta, and his elder brother, who’d moved out years ago, was just like his father. Stan had the unluckiest genes in the world. At first his parents had breathed a sigh of relief because, unlike most young omegas, Stan didn’t show maternal instincts towards things like toys or friends. What they failed to realize was that Stan had unknowingly projected those instincts onto his beloved pet dove, Ophelia. Because, well, isn’t it normal to act a little weird around pets? They just assumed he was a beta and moved on with their lives.

His first cycle kicked in when he was sixteen, a bit late all things considered. Thankfully he was at home. He’d never forget the look on his mother’s face when he came in, sweating and bright red, screaming  _ please god tell me what’s happening _ at her. He was taken to a doctor. A girl in the waiting room around his age smelled, and it made him feel weak.

Stan suffered from  _ omega hypersensitivity _ . This was partially due to his autism, which already made him feel, hear and taste things way harder than other people. Otherwise, it must’ve just been bad luck. They allowed his mother a moment outside to weep at the disgusting thing her son had become, before the doctor prescribed him some suppressants. 

The unfortunate thing about suppressants was that they didn’t fully eliminate the heat of an omega. This was because doing so was fully illegal. It wasn’t considered right to “disturb nature’s way”, and that female birth control was  _ already _ tearing the country apart, blah blah blah. Normally, Stan’s family was law-abiding and average, but his father was a rabbi. If Stan presented publicly, all of them would be shamed for it, and Stan was in agreement that he really didn’t want that in the slightest.

He went to several different doctors. Got several different prescriptions sent to several different drug stores in several different nearby towns. His mother would ask friends if they could get her more prescriptions. She’d even talk Doctor Keene into giving her  _ other people’s _ suppressants. Stan would occasionally buy stuff from the various small-town drug dealers, usually extra-strength shit that wasn’t legal to begin with. He was taking nearly ten pills a day and hadn’t experienced a heat since.

Richie was the only person who knew of his issue. He’d visited one day to watch some horror movies and, while searching for aspirin, accidentally found Stan’s treasure trove of medications. Not wanting to immediately get murdered by his enraged best friend, Richie came right out and said  _ he _ was an omega as well. They cracked a bottle over a table, which didn’t break as nicely as Stan was hoping, and made a blood pact to never tell anyone.

“I can share them if you want.” Stan had said.

“Nah, I have some at home.”

Bill hadn’t needed to out himself, because he was outed at some point in high school when Belch Huggins told everybody he knew. This information eventually reached him, but even if it didn’t, the weeklong school absences made it abundantly clear. Stan had no idea why, even on the cusp of entering college, he wasn’t just taking meds for it. Perhaps his parents just wouldn’t get him checked out. Now that they were all eighteen, any of them could go do whatever at the doctor’s without explicit parental permission, so maybe Stan would direct Bill to a doctor at some point. (Or a dealer.)

Stan showed up at Bassey Park, meeting with Bev and Mike, who’d already appeared. Stan had known the guys long enough to know what order they’d usually come in. If Stan himself wasn’t first, it was  _ always _ Mike or Bill who showed up first. Then Bev after them, and then Ben. Eddie was usually late due to his mother, and Richie was usually late due to himself. Bev had beaten him that day, which put Stan in an odd mood, but she didn’t seem to notice. Perception wasn’t her biggest skill, and more importantly, Stan’s expression rarely ever changed or shifted. 

“Hi Stan!” She greeted him cheerfully.

“Mm.” Stan answered. “Bill’s not coming.”

“On one of his weeklong breaks, I’m guessing.” Bev sighed, moving a bit of hair out of her face. “Poor guy. Must get boring.”

“He’s not gonna want visits.”

“I know! I’ve known him almost as long as you have.”

Bev was an alpha. Female alphas were always treated as some sort of rarity, but really, they were as common as male ones from what Stan knew. They were often stereotyped as sexually domineering or slutty, even though Bev had never come onto any of the Losers. Neither had Sonia Kaspbrak, Eddie’s mother, who was as much an alpha as a fox is a mammal. But Bev’s pheromone smelled much nicer, though it didn’t send Stan into a frenzy like it would if he was off meds. It was just nice, like the scent of clean laundry, or pine trees when he’d bike past a Christmas tree stand. 

“Are there any good movies on?” Stan asked, not really liking the awkward silence. Mike looked up from the black squirrel he’d been intently watching, and spoke.

“Everything looked kind of dumb, but I usually trust Richie’s judgement on what counts as a good movie. I don’t know ‘em much.”

“So?”

“So ask him, I mean.”

The mild snark drew a soft laugh from Bev, though Stan remained stone-faced as usual. It was better than Richie’s jokes by a mile, which was really meaningless, since all of Richie’s jokes were completely awful.

Ben showed up, Ben and Mike being two of the three betas of the club. Neither of them ever presented anything, though apparently Ben had been pegged as an omega early on due to his sensitive, almost feminine personality. Stan found that stupid. After all, there were no doubt football players who were omegas, and likewise, drag queens who were alphas. Neither himself, Richie, nor Bill were particularly effeminate. (Though Stan did hate to get his hands dirty without good cause.) Regardless, Ben never presented proper before reaching legal adulthood, which meant he was either a beta, or one of the very few who would present after age eighteen. Stan had even heard of an alpha that didn’t present until he was in his thirties.

Bev gave Ben a hug, which clearly meant a lot to him. Anyone with eyes and a brain could tell he had a thing for Bev, except Bev herself.  _ She _ had a thing for  _ Bill _ . And Bill had a thing for… well, someone, probably.

Eddie appeared soon after, with his inhaler in his right hand puffing into his mouth. Eddie was another beta. He always smelled like a hospital, most likely due to his nutcase of a mother. “Mom again?” Mike questioned. Eddie shook his head.

“No, for once I got out early, and then I fucking run into Bowers of all people. He didn’t really chase me but he kept trying to talk to me, it was so fucking annoying.”

“Probably wanted to bang.” Bev stated. Eddie threw his arms out in an exasperated gesture.

“Me? Bang Henry Bowers? I’d rather get hit with a tire iron!”

“Whoops, sounds like we’re talking about banging!” Everyone turned, catching Richie Tozier walking up with his hands in his pockets. “Well Eds, I hope you’re ready to hear about all the banging me and your mom have been up to.” Richie pinched Eddie’s cheek, Eddie promptly slapping his hand away.

“You know I hate when you do that!”

“You love it, Eds. You love me.” Richie made kissy noises at Eddie, who produced an exaggerated sound of disgust.

“Can you two not act like five-year-olds for one second?” Stan grumbled. Richie elbowed him in the ribs just a bit too hard. Stan frowned. “Don’t do that shit, it hurts. Quit being an infant.” 

“I can’t help it, I’m the ultimate infant. Gonna need someone to scrape the shit out of my pants.”

“Gross!” Eddie gagged. Bev and Mike seemed amused, at least. They always liked Richie’s humor, for better or for worse. “Don’t talk about shit! You know how many diseases you can get from it? E-coli, typhoid, dysentery, I’m surprised there are any diseases you  _ can’t _ get from shit!”

“Yeah, yeah. Had any good chucks recently, guys?”

“I think I had some right now.” Bev said, still giggling a bit. “Are there any good movies on? You’re the expert, Rich.”

“Eh. Didn’t seem like it. I was hoping we’d just fuck around about town, maybe dig some suspicious holes and convince the townsfolk there are aliens. Go get stoned behind the high school building. The usual.” Richie paused. “Bill’s out?”

“Yeah.” Stan answered. “He called me this morning.” The two of them exchanged a knowing gaze. (Though Richie appeared far more sympathetic.) “It’d be great if we lived in a city instead of a fucking nowhere town.”

“We could go to the library.” Ben suggested. Bev shook her head and replied.

“I don’t think Richie is capable of being quiet.” Richie gave her a comically angry look, folding his arms over his chest in a grand gesture. “You know it’s true. I’ve never even seen you in that library before.”

“Well-uh, obviously,” Richie kicked into his Stimpy impression, “it’s be-cuase I can’t read, Ren!” This sent Ben into laughing hysterics. Richie took this as a cue to keep going. “What’s-a-mattuh, Ren? Am I bein’ too stuuuuupid?”

“Oh- oh my god stop, I’ll get asthma like Eddie,” Ben squatted down a bit, trying to catch his breath. Eddie frowned.

“Asthma doesn’t work that way.” He stated. “You can’t just start having it. Be a little more sensitive.”

“Eddie, shut up.” Eddie turned to Stan, who had spoken last, now with the tiniest of grins on his face. Eddie couldn’t make himself be mad no matter how much he tried. Then Stan turned to Richie. “Hey Rich, I can walk you home today.”

“Sure, man.” Richie replied. This was code.

* * *

Richie Tozier was your average, run-of-the-mill omega who wore way too much cologne, and that was only Stan’s business.

It wasn’t a big shock, his mother was an omega after all, but it was still, for lack of a better word, unfortunate. Sort of like giving birth to a girl in a third-world country. Her life’s gonna be horrible and devoid of opportunities. Richie figured that his own life, as well, would be horrible and devoid of opportunities. Unless, of course, he managed to conceal his status, which he’d been doing quite well.

Bev had driven them to the nearest mall and they all screwed around for a bit. They found out that Stan could fit his dainty little feet into women’s shoes and convinced him to try on only the dumbest high heels they could find. They went to the arcade which, though it was far bigger than the one in Derry, Richie didn’t like it as much. It didn’t have all of his high scores recorded on its cabinets. Not to mention that the tokens each cost 75 cents, which was ridiculous. 25 cents was an acceptable price. Beverly used Ben’s arm to swatch make-up, which he was very much okay with. Mike and Stan were far too enthusiastic about bird books for awhile, and Richie chased Eddie around with a make-up tester after Eddie complained of all the germs they collect over time.

Richie ended up buying a new cologne, a joy buzzer, and a VHS copy of  _ Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure _ , which he’d been wanting for awhile. Stan bought a tape of bird calls and some jazz music, such a Stan thing to do. Eventually everyone went their separate ways after a nice drive back.

Stan’s “guy” was a dude named Bradley, they vaguely knew each other in elementary school. He had a lisp, and his dad was a pharmacist or something, so he dealt in prescription medication. As well, he had a lot of generally-illegal doctor’s-office-y stuff, and Richie had no clue where it came from. He’d seen the guy selling morphine.

Bradley generally posted up around the Derry library in the evening, when most people had already left. He wore a hoodie and sunglasses when he was “on the job”, as if that’d make him harder to find somehow. His teeth were still unmistakably janky. Anyone who knew him could probably tell.

“Brad,” Stan yell-whispered to him from around a corner, “the high-levels. Got any?” Bradley nodded, cueing Stan to round the corner with Richie behind him, who was mostly there to keep watch in case any cops drove by. Stan pressed a fistful of bills into Bradley’s hand, and Bradley held each one under the small outdoor lamps attached to the library’s outer wall. He nodded.

“Anything in particular for you?”

“The capsules.” Stan shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m all out.”

“Capthuleth. Got it.” Bradley’s lisp sent spit flying into Richie’s face, which was super gross. He reached into his years-old backpack, fishing through pockets until finally handing over the wide, white plastic bottle. Stan opened the cap, making sure it was what he wanted, and then stuffed it into his pocket.

_ “Hey!” _

There was a call from the sidewalk. Richie turned his head so fast he heard his own neck crack. He should’ve been more careful.

It wasn’t a cop, but it  _ was _ mullet-trash Henry Bowers with his fists buried in his pants pockets, looking smug. “Didn’t realize you needed  _ pussy pills _ , Stan!” Instead of being offended, Stan aggressively motioned at him to shush. Bradley had long since run off. “What’s Trashmouth doing here? Did he mark you? Bad taste on both ends.”

“Yeah, sorry you couldn’t get him first, Bowers!” Richie shouted back. Probably a mistake. No, definitely a mistake! Someday Richie might learn to keep his mouth shut. Rapidly Bowers began approaching. Stan grabbed Richie by his upper arm and nearly dislocated his shoulder attempting to run away. Richie was tempted to stay and stand his ground, but decided against it when Bowers drew his switchblade.

If Stan was good for anything, it was running. Kind of sad that Richie had to hold him back in situations like these. Running was not his forte, but if it was, they’d never have any problems escaping Bowers. Though what is life, really, without risk? Regardless, big hulking Bowers was hot on their heels, Richie occasionally looking back and catching his fiery gaze, or an eyeful of his teeth.

“You shitheads, I’ll cut you a second asshole!” Bowers’ pheromone was strong and sickening. It wasn’t pleasant, it was intrusive and made Richie a bit sick to his stomach. If he wasn’t on the pill, he’d probably drop into a puddle of his own slick. Bowers must’ve been on those over-the-counter meds that increase the production of pheromone, which Richie found a bit silly. It’s like taking Viagra without ever having any sex just to show off your boner.

Suddenly he was released from Stan’s death grip, right in front of his own house. He ducked in through the front door and locked it, watching Stan break into an intense sprint through the window. Bowers had no hope of keeping up.

Satisfied with the day he had, Richie turned around to go to his bedroom. Nothing like a good lay-down to end an evening. Looking at the chair in his desk, he realized he still hadn’t returned Eddie’s sweater.

Eddie, oh Eddie. There weren’t nearly enough words in the English language to describe what Richie felt for Eddie. He took the sweater off of his chair, burying his face in the fabric. He had no clue what it was about the way Eddie smelled, but it felt like home. Soap, mostly, Eddie smelled like soap. Antibacterial soap and body wash and detergent. Richie felt like a fucking deviant.

Eddie would probably be disgusted and enraged that Richie touched himself so much. Especially if he found out that Richie did so with his sweater, taking in his scent. Love is hard, and unfair, and heartbreaking. He buried his face in the soft surface, cozy and comfy. If only there was a man inside of it. The man it belonged to. 

Stan always said he’d rather die than be claimed, and that was fair. He wasn’t one to be tied down, not due to a lack of commitment, but simply a hatred of the idea. Richie didn’t want to, either. In another lifetime, where Eddie was an alpha, he’d consider it. In fact, he’d welcome it. He’d probably beg for it. He’d get on his knees, bury his face in Eddie’s crotch and worship it like the ground he walked on.  _ Please, god, Eds, fucking own me. _

That, however, would be asking too much.

* * *

Eddie Kaspbrak was  _ not _ a beta.

When he was around six, his mom took him to a child psychologist to do that stupid doll test. You know the one, they hand you a stupid plastic baby doll and, based on your interactions with it, the doc gives you a pre-emptive assignment just in case. It wasn’t even reliable. Why did people still do it? Anyway, Eddie’s memories of it were spotty, as it had been a long time ago, but he’d been as protective with that doll as his mother had been of him.

Normally defensive actions marked one for alpha status, but his methods were seen as heavily maternal. Thus, he was put down as a “potential omega”, and his mom doted on him even more. Because God forbid, some big hulking alpha come rape him to death before he even reached the double-digits. That would never end up being a problem. In fact, Eddie’s biggest problem status-wise would be catching people in his class looking horny just from his presence. 

Everyone and their grandma knew Bill was an omega, but Eddie was the only one who Bill knew knew about that, which was good. Eddie felt more comfortable knowing Bill knew that he knew. You know? Anyway, he put a bit of perfume on before leaving, though it probably wouldn’t do him much. (He also took pheromone suppressant, but he was neurotic.) He felt bad tormenting Bill, but felt even worse leaving him all alone for days on end. His parents were crushed after Georgie died so many years ago, and still seemed to want nothing to do with their remaining son. He needed a friend, and Eddie was willing to be that friend.

He knocked on Bill’s front door and was greeted by Mrs. Denbrough, who looked him up and down quickly.

“Nice to see you, Eddie.”

She didn’t seem to mean it, but Eddie still nodded.

“Nice to see you too! Is, uh, is Bill home?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see him?” Mrs. Denbrough’s expression seemed to say,  _ do you HAVE to? _ , but her mouth said,

“Go right ahead.”

So go ahead he did.

Immediately upon entering Bill’s room he was hit with the smell of omega pheromone, and he took a puff from his inhaler. The stench was enough to make a man ill. Eddie wasn’t too familiar with omega smell, most of his friends were betas, but he wasn’t really into it. He’d never felt any desire to claim anybody or mark anyone.

“Big Bill?”

What had formerly appeared to be a blanket lump rose, Bill’s towhead sticking up from underneath. He was, as expected, a sweaty mess. For only half a second, Eddie’s id told him to jump Bill and fuck the shit out of him, before the superego knocked it to the floor and told it  _ no! _ The ego agreed. Eddie had no interest in Bill sexually. He just smelled like something fuckable. 

“Hi, Eddie.” Bill sounded hoarse, maybe he’d been screaming his lungs out or something. Eddie felt horrible seeing him in such a state. He’d never get used to it.

“You feelin’ alright?”

“No.” Bill laid back down, head hitting his pillow with a loud ‘thump’. “This s-s-sucks. I wish I w-w-wuh-was dead.”

“Aw, c’mon, don’t say that.” Eddie sat down on the edge of Bill’s bed. “Uh, want me to get you anything, like a glass of water, or…”

“Juh-juh-just fucking end me.”

“I said no.” Eddie crossed his arms. “Don’t make me sleep over here so you don’t kill yourself, man.”

“No, god n-no. I’ll d-d-die for sure, then.” 

“What’re you reading?” He motioned towards the book Bill had folded up next to him. Bill blinked, as if he forgot he was reading to begin with.

“Muh-Muh-Mary Shelley’s  _ Frankenstein _ . Can’t really p-pay attention to it, though.” He laughed, a bit morosely, and held the book up. It looked brand-new, in paperback with a bluish cover. “Why? You wanna buh-buh-borrow it?”

“You know I hate that stuff, Bill. Scares me outta my boots.”

“‘s not th-that bad. It’s a b-b-book.”

“Doesn’t make a difference to me. Book, movie, comic… I can’t stomach it, I get asthma and hives and nausea.”

“That d-d-duh-doesn’t sound true.”

“Well, it  _ is _ .” Eddie turned away in mock offense, Bill letting out a bit of a snicker. “Anyway, I was gonna come here to give you a present, but I guess you don’t  _ want _ it, maybe I’ll just go home and cry in the bathtub.”

“No, n-no,” Bill was still laughing. Eddie took pride in telling better jokes than Richie. “I’m s-sorry, m'lord, please b-b-b-bestow your holy guh-guh-gift upon me.”

“Alright, since you asked so nicely.” Eddie reached into the paper bag he’d brought with him, pulling out a fancy leather-bound notebook. He handed it over to Bill. On its cover was a detail of a cat licking its paw. “I figured it probably gets boring when you’re home alone, and like, keeping a diary is kinda fun.”

“Th-thanks.” Bill set it next to himself on the covers. “I f-f-feel bad.”

“Why?”

“Y-y-y-you have to come here all the t-t-time to see me. You really d-d-don’t have to, I don’t wanna be a b-buh-buh-buh--”

“You’re not.”

Eddie had no idea what he was about to say, but he didn’t want to hear it. “If I didn’t wanna come here, I wouldn’t. I’m here, so don’t sweat it.”

“I c-c-can’t  _ not _ sweat.”

“Aw, shut up.” Eddie gently punched Bill’s shoulder. “Your jokes are even worse than Richie’s.” Bill rubbed where Eddie had hit him, making a soft whine. “Oh, shit, sorry about that. Didn’t mean to, like…”

“T-touch me. Yeah.” Bill’s gaze averted. Shame welled up beneath his skin in red. “My life is a fuh-huh-hucking nightmare.”

“I mean, plenty of other people manage to, like, y’know. Exist.”

“I guess.” Bill threw his hands up. “At least ih-it gives m-m-me some time t-to puh-pruh-practice speaking.” His eyes were locked on the ceiling. “He th- he thruh- he thuh-  _ fuck _ .” 

“I’ve heard stress makes it worse.”

“It’s n-n-not suh-stressing me out. He thruh, thrusts his f-f-f--”

“Come on man. Just rest yourself or something, hearing you do that stresses  _ me _ out.” Eddie quickly whipped out his inhaler, sucking in a puff or two. “I don’t care if you stutter or not.”

“Well  _ I  _ c-c-care.” Bill sat up suddenly, looking a bit annoyed. “I c-care that I stuh-stutter, I care th-that I have h-h-heat cycles, I’m a guh-guh-goddamn mess. I th-think I have duh-duh-depression.”

“See a therapist.”

“Nah… I’m p-p-probably overreacting.”

“I’m sorry I can’t do anything.”  _ Besides give you a handjob, but that’s a bit personal for me, Big Bill _ . “But if you need anything just gimme a call and I’ll be here. I’ll be here in five seconds. Maybe even four.”

“You’re t-t-too good for me.”

“No, you.” Eddie reared back to give Bill another soft punch before remembering his state, and lowering his fist.

“C-c-could you get outta here? Not to be rude. I n-n-need a shuh-shower.” Eddie nodded. He knew that Bill was probably gonna go jerk off in there, until his wrist went sore and palms were peeled raw. Because that was his life, a life that Eddie would never be physically capable of understanding, and that was fine. As he left, he caught Mrs. Denbrough’s gaze from the living room. She looked beyond distraught.

Was it selfish of him to hide his alpha status? Maybe so. That wasn’t who he wanted to be. He begged for normalcy.

* * *

Ben Hanscom was as average as they came, aside from his weight. 

It’s definitely not normal to wish for someone else’s misfortune to be one’s own. Ben didn’t wish to be blind, or deaf, or mute. Why would he? But to be in Bill Denbrough’s shoes for even a day, he’d give his left foot for it.

Bill was an omega. Beverly was an alpha. She probably wanted something she could lay claim to, someone she could protect. She couldn’t claim Ben, because he was a beta, and didn’t fit into that part of society.

Which wasn’t to say betas were put-upon in any way. They were as normal as normal could be. Their anatomy was normal, they followed the rules of normal biology. Male betas could impregnate female betas and omegas. Female betas could be impregnated by male betas and alphas. Betas could not claim, or be claimed by another person. Thus it was considered undesirable to date a beta. This was especially the case for omegas, whose sole existence relied on being claimed by an alpha. Omegas in relationships with betas were often even considered “single”.

None of this really mattered to Ben, though. What did matter was that he was a beta and his crush was not, and she probably didn’t want something boring and un-claimable. Not to mention he was ugly. Bev never said he was ugly, but he knew she was thinking it.

He’d tried and tried again to shed the weight, but it never really went anywhere. His mother told him to just be happy with himself. He didn’t want to be himself.

He wanted to be Bill Denbrough.

Bill Denbrough, in spite of his leaderly personality, was practically the ideal omega. Small build and soft features, as well as long hair for pulling on. According to Eddie, who’d told him after a bit of prodding, Bill produced enough slick to get Mrs. Kaspbrak into a mousehole. He was beautiful, like an angel. Bev probably wanted to bore through him. She wanted to do things she couldn’t do with Ben. Ben didn’t resent Bill, didn’t hate him, but he wished they could switch places for a minute or two. He would take all the slick and heat if it meant he could know how it felt to be loved by Beverly Marsh.

The weather was alright, and Ben didn’t have any plans, so he decided to just go for a little walk and see what the world brought him. The day prior he’d bought a new yo-yo, hoping maybe he could figure out how to make it sleep, because Richie could, and Bev could, too. At the moment it wasn’t working out. 

He walked and walked until he reached the Derry Public Library, which was his favorite place. Its glass tunnel and children’s section. Every part of it, aside from maybe the overly-aggressive ‘NO HEAT’ sign tacked to the door. It was to discourage heated folks from entering, as it disturbs the peace. It seemed fair enough, but looked all-too-harsh on the big wooden door. 

Ben’s favorite section was the history books, but today he’d picked up some bird book, similar to the one Stan owned. On the front, large, serif text read,  **BIRDS OF NORTH AMERICA** , with a painting of a cardinal perched on a branch. He cozied up in a corner with his book open, and licked his thumb to turn pages, politely wiping off each corner afterwards. The librarian loved him, this polite old alpha woman. Sometimes he’d even come around to help shelf books when her bones were feeling rough.

“Hey, Ben!”

Ben looked up. Surprise of all surprises, it was Bev and Mike. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here. What’s up?”

“A bird book?” Mike smiled. “You and Stan would get on perfect with that.”

“Y… yeah.” Ben flushed a bit. Bev’s voice always made him feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. Maybe the same way an omega would feel about her scent, though a lot less horny. Her hands looked smooth.

“I was looking for you!” Bev said. Ben’s pink face went fully red.

“For, for me?”

“Yeah, you’re good at building stuff! Can we go outside so I can talk at a normal volume, or did you wanna check something out first?”

“No, I’m ready.” Ben immediately ran off, putting the book almost exactly where he found it. “I, uh, I can just come back later. Or tomorrow.” Then he edged towards the door, until Bev and Mike looked like they were fully headed in that direction. He didn’t want to come off like he was rushing.

“So I had this idea.” Bev threw her hands out, Mike standing beside her. “We’re a bunch of middle-of-nowhere kids who’ve never built a treehouse before. And I think we should do that, because I feel like my life is incomplete without it.” Her hand met Ben’s shoulder, which sent pulses all through his body. “And I figured if anyone would know how to build a treehouse, it’d be you!”

Ben looked to Mike. Mike spoke, a man of few words.

“It was her idea.” Ben immediately lit up. (Of course, it was Mike and Bev’s collective idea, but Mike knew what would make Ben happy, and it wasn’t really a lie.) “You’re really good with architecture stuff.”

“Well, uh, what was your idea?” 

“Just something big enough to squeeze a few people into.” Bev shrugged. “I don’t even plan to spend a ton of time there, I just think I should have one. Plus if my aunt is bugging me, or if it gets too hot in the house, I can just crawl in there… hang up some lights or something.” Her gestures were erratic, full of excitement, and Ben loved the way her hands moved. “I have this big tree just outside my house, it’s huge! It could probably support the whole Empire State Building on it!”

“Wow… If it’s got a low-hanging branch, you could probably attach a swing to it.” Ben mumbled a bit, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“Maybe that can be the next thing.”

Ben’s heart fluttered at the mere implication of a “next thing”. Mike handed him something, which turned out to be a long, rolled-up piece of brown paper. 

“For drawing up plans,” he said, “using big paper feels kind of official. Technically my grampa uses this stuff to wrap meat when people buy it, but he has a lot, so I figure he won’t care if I take some.”

“Thanks…”

Bev smiled at him.

* * *

Henry Bowers was not a good man, not that he  _ really _ recognized that fact. He just saw himself as your average superior being. His father did, too, though Henry hated his father with the passion of a thousand suns. But he was a useful man.

For starters, he left guns lying around. Henry loved guns. Loved the ‘click’ and the ‘bang’ and the ‘boom’ that they made. The big, shimmering metal barrels and the clips where the bullets collected like metal pills in a pillbox. He loved them, and he loved the power trip of pointing them at people, especially when they weren’t loaded. Making beta fucks piss their pants over an unloaded gun was all sorts of funny.

More importantly, being the son of a cop put Henry in a position of authority, moreso than he already was. He had claimed upwards of fifteen people since he reached legal age, and left them behind. It was their fault for being dumb shits, anyway. Sentimental bull, it was funny watching omegas and the odd beta ruined for a good, long time. But there was one thing he wanted that he previously thought he couldn’t have, and dad could fix that, too.

See, Henry had been under the impression that the shitty Losers Club only had one omega present. This was, of course, the lovable Sticky Bill. Unfortunately, the little fucker hid out during his heats and only ever got visits from Wheezy, no doubt receiving a handie or blowie to calm his never-ending stuh-stuh-stutter. Sure, he wanted to fuck Bill. He wanted to fuck most of ‘em, really. Bev probably had a bit too much power behind her, but the rest seemed fun. Henry fucking hated alpha women.

However, he’d become privy to a bit of a drug deal between that lisping Bradley kid and lovable, huggable, punchable Stanley Uris. Not just any drugs, no sir, they were heavy-duty omega suppressants, the kind only used in hospitals or for old people so they wouldn’t get heart attacks. Richie Tozier was present, too. Maybe they were both omega shit. But Stan, for sure, was one of them, and he was on the pill -- probably several of them.

There was a point in time where an omega could get arrested for acquiring too many suppressant pills, but the punishment was lowered to simple confiscation. As well, someone caught illegally using suppressants would be barred from further purchase or prescription of them unless it became really,  _ really _ necessary. 

Henry was gonna fuck Stan’s world right up.

After playing “Pig” with the boys for awhile, Henry decided to peel off and go interact with his old man. He bid his gang farewell, and Patrick Hockstetter gave him those fucking goo-goo eyes that he hated so much. (He’d touched dicks with Patrick before, not by choice, but it barely changed their relationship, somehow.) He shuffled towards his house with his hands in his pockets, finding dad inside, sitting in his chair with the TV on and a beer in hand.

“Dad.” Henry stood a few feet away, on the off chance his father was in one of his moods. Butch Bowers looked up from his seat.

“Yeah?”

“I saw somethin’ you might wanna know about.” His father turned a bit more, intrigued. “Stanley Uris--”

“The Jew’s son?”

“Mm-hm.” Henry gave pause in case his father had anything more to say before continuing. “I saw him buyin’ suppressant capsules off some kid behind the library. I think you’d oughta check his medicine cabinet.”

“Didn’t know the kid was low-blooded.” His father had colorful terms for all sorts of people, omegas included. “Well, guess I’m outta here, then.”

“Can I come?” Henry pressed his hands together. “I wanna see that puss-boy get his shit handed to ‘im!” Many of those colorful terms had been acquired by Henry over time. He wanted to see it, he wanted to see what happened.

His dad shrugged, and Henry followed him to the car. Then was a leisurely drive, father and son watching trees and clouds go by. Henry knew how those pills worked, it was like birth control. One time his cousin Lily cried out that she’d ‘forgotten to take her birth control’, and that it caused her period to start. That always stuck with him, somehow. Those pills were the same way. By tomorrow, Stanley Uris would be experiencing hell on earth, and that made Henry smile.

As they turned a corner, there was a ‘thump’ on the rear window of the car. Henry turned, only to see Richie Trashmouth Tozier biking a few feet behind. He looked winded as shit, barely keeping up with the car, which was moving under the low speed limit.

“Dad, you should probably hurry up.”

“Shut up, kid.”

Richie was clearly yelling something, but Henry couldn’t hear him. He wished it was always like that, he wished that there was a volume-down button for Richie Tozier’s stupid fucking voice. 

“Richie T is following us.”

“Let him.” His dad shrugged. “What is he going to do? Cry? Tell a shitty joke? Flamer can follow if he wants.” Henry still watched Richie, who steadily managed to keep up, before finally jumping off his bike and pushing it into the Uris family’s front yard. Butch parked the car, and Henry observed Richie banging on the front door. 

Henry jumped out of the car before it even reached a full stop, a habit of his which his father detested, and charged at Richie, knocking the wind right out of him. Richie, however, was not playing this time, and clawed at Henry’s face, digging just a bit below the skin. Kneeing Henry in the gut, Richie managed to wriggle away and plastered himself to the door, Butch Bowers standing before him with a dead-eyed gaze. “Get out the way, son.”

“No.” Richie was defiant. Butch hastily drew his pistol, shooting the path-tile just beside Richie’s feet. It shattered, and he covered his ears, which gave Henry a chance to pull him away.  _ Now this _ , Henry thought,  _ this is real father-son bonding.  _ Richie shouted as the doorbell was pressed, Henry covering his mouth with one hand. The two remained out of sight when Mrs. Uris answered. Butch pulled out his badge.

“Hello, ma’am, can I have a look inside?”

“Well, what for?” Mrs. Uris cocked her head a bit, hands stuck in her pockets. She was sweating, metaphorically, that bitch was beading sweat across her brow.

“I have reason to believe there may be illegal possession of drugs going on in this home.”

Henry got a bit reckless, and Richie managed to bite his finger, allowing Richie to slip in and begin blabbering to Mrs. Uris. Then he turned to Butch.

“Do, do you have a warrant?! Go piss in a cup and drink it, dickhead!” Butch ignored Richie, shoving Mrs. Uris out of the way. Richie followed right after him. “Warrant! Warrant! Don’t think you’re above the law! You’re not!”

Mr. Uris wasn’t home, but Stan was. Poking his head in, Henry could hear those tiny footsteps pat-pat-patting upstairs. At some point, Butch whirled around and punched Richie right in the kisser. Richie howled and grabbed his face, which dripped red with blood. Henry swore he heard a crack. Stanley came down the stairs, looking dumbfounded when he caught Henry in the doorway.

“Dad’s gettin’ your pussy pills.” He snarked. Mrs. Uris appeared to be calling her husband as Stan ran towards Butch, looking like he might pass out.

“Officer,” He tugged Butch’s sleeve, “I-I really don’t feel comfortable with you going through my medicine cabinet, I  _ really _ need everything in there, officer, I--”

“She-dog.” Butch snorted. “Shut yer mouth, or I’ll shut it for ya.” And thus, Butch Bowers got to work emptying the medicine cabinet. The house had gone quiet, other than the clack of pills in bottles and the distant sound of Mrs. Uris on the phone.

Henry stood, watching Stan get down on the floor with his face buried in his hands. Richie took one of his hands off of his broken nose, grabbing Stan’s shoulder and holding him close. They looked small. Henry felt big, he felt enormous, he felt like he was towering above everything on the planet. Stan twitched, weeping like an infant and holding onto Richie.  _ She-dog _ , Henry thought,  _ dirty fuckin’ she-dog _ . 

“Guess you’re gonna need some toys, ‘cause that heat’s gonna blow the skin off ya.” Richie looked up at Henry and replied.

“Fuck you.” He was a bit nasally in tone. “Fuck you. We never did anything but exist. What do you want?”

“Just doin’ my civic duty.”

Stan let out a yell, a wet one, full of phlegm and tears. Richie patted Stan’s back before looking at Henry again. His face wrinkled in disgust.

“You have an erection! You freak!” Richie shouted. Stan finally looked up too, then quickly grabbing an empty vase off of an end table and holding it out. The threat was there, though not very threatening.

“Get out!” He practically screamed. Rage billowed live in his eyes, and he sucked in a deep, shaking breath. “Get out of my house! You, you, you fucking…” Hiccup. “...you fucking  _ animal _ .”

Henry decided to duck outside, not because he was afraid of a vase-bashing by Stanley Uris, rather, the yelling was just hurting his ears. He could hear his father questioning the weeping bird-boy, who barely managed to give answers. He refused to snitch on his dealer, which would no doubt keep him safe if he were ever in prison. There’s nothing a prisoner hates more than a canary.

Soon enough, Butch emerged, shoulderbag rattling with pills.

“I’m gonna take these down to the station. Walk yourself home.”

Henry wasn’t given a moment to complain, but he couldn’t be mad, either.


End file.
